


A Question Of Time

by LilyOfShalott



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/F, F/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-03 00:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14557170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyOfShalott/pseuds/LilyOfShalott
Summary: Trapped in the past after an accident in the Department of Mysteries, and with rescue nowhere in sight, Hermione tries to forge a life for herself not knowing if – or when – she'll be able to return home. But as she lives alongside those she knows in the future, she finds herself slowly forgetting her past and, with that, her reason to go back.





	1. The Body By The Lake

** A Question Of Time **

Chapter One:  The Body By The Lake

_30th June, 1957_

_Hogwarts_

It was the pain that roused her, coursing through her body like poison. It seeped into her mind, clouding her thoughts as she tried to make sense of why she was feeling so horrid. She couldn't remember...

She opened her eyes, blinking quickly as she squinted at... _Hogwarts? The Great Lake?_

_I'm dreaming, surely..._

All she knew was that everywhere ached. Her skin felt raw, her head was throbbing as if she'd hit it repeatedly on a rock, and as she tried to draw breath, she realised she was unable to breathe. She felt someone's hands on her, trying to turn her quickly; they were shaking slightly, as if whoever owned them was scared. As soon as she was on her side, she realised why the helpful stranger was rolling her, and why she was unable to inhale properly – she promptly coughed up a lungful of lake water onto the rocks she was lying on. White spots danced around her vision as her lungs burned, searing with the effort to maintain enough air to remain conscious. It was like the Cruciatus curse aftershocks all over again.

After drawing in an agonising, shuddering breath, she next focused on the the pain in her forehead. Tentatively, she propped herself up on her elbow, ignoring the sharp rocks piercing through her waterlogged robes, and brought up her hand to assess the damage. Pain sliced through both her hairline and her arm at her touch, and she whimpered as she saw her wrist hanging limply, followed by the blood covering her fingertips. Almost at once, her arms started shaking as anxiety threatened to overwhelm her.

Movement sounded from behind her; the squelching of damp pebbles and something – someone – shuffling over them. "Sssh, it's ok. You're injured, but I – I've sent for help," a nervous voice explained as firm hands eased her onto her back.

Hermione was too exhausted to argue and did as she was told, squeezing her eyes shut against the midday sun. She felt tears slip down her cheeks as more pain registered on her body; her legs were on fire, and her old back injuries seemed to have been reignited. She grunted with the effort to keep herself from sobbing, face twisting in agony. Her right wrist was most certainly broken, and if the blood was anything to go by, she had a head wound. She tried to focus on the nice chill of the water swirling around her lower legs; it was soothing against whatever was burning her skin there.

"I'm no Healer," the voice – a woman's, she registered – said, stronger this time, "But the Deputy Headmaster is coming with out with the Matron, I promise you. Just try to breathe." The woman started loosening the front clasps of Hermione's soaked robes to alleviate pressure on her chest, while she continued, "You're at Hogwarts, nothing can hurt you now." The faintest hint of a Scottish accent accompanied the words, which made Hermione's pain-addled mind take a while longer to comprehend what was said to her. She felt a damp cloth wiping where her head was most painful, and cool fingers sliding under her jaw to keep track of her pulse.

_That voice is familiar_ , she mused groggily, the pain in her head threatening to slip her back into unconsciousness. Fighting her hazing vision, Hermione opened her eyes once more, this time to look at the woman tending to her injuries. She was hard to see at first, what with the sun blazing behind her like a halo and long black hair draped over one pale shoulder, but the piercing emerald green eyes – enhanced by dark make-up, unusually – were unmistakable. Her own eyes widened, and jaw slackened at the recognition.

"Oh...God," Hermione choked out in horror, lungs straining with the effort after her coughing fit. Her throat felt on fire. " _Minerva?_ " The shock almost made her heave. _She's young. Far too young. What the fuck has happened?!_ Hermione thought desperately, realising that, to her absolute terror, she shouldn't be wondering _where_ she was, but rather, _when_ _._ "Oh, _shit_."

Minerva McGonagall raised an arched eyebrow as she leaned back on her heels. "You know me?" she asked slowly, wringing out the bloodied wash-cloth in the water surrounding them both.

Hermione barely heard her as the implications swam before her eyes. She made to sit up, putting her weight on her left arm, and look past the younger version of the current Headmistress of Hogwarts to the rest of the shoreline of the lake. Her heart skipped several beats at the empty patch of grass where the Whomping Willow was meant to be, at the different design of the old boathouse, and the pristine jetty that had long been declared unsafe to students by the time she had attended the school.

A chill ran through her, and she felt herself falling back, lying on the pebbly shore in the slowly rising water. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit, _shit!_ "

She squeezed her eyes shut and brought her left hand to cover her face, clutching at the side of her head desperately as a whirlwind of possibilities – all just as unlikely and problematic as the next – plagued her mind as to an explanation of her current situation. With her breathing becoming erratic once more, and pain becoming unbearable, she relinquished control of herself to unconsciousness, floating away with the hope that this was all a terrible, _terrible_ nightmare she would never have to face again.

**

The bed was rather uncomfortable; the sheets were pulled too tight around her, and the pillows were much too thin. The angle she was lying on made her throat ache. _At least my headache's gone_ , she thought, before she found herself confused as to why she would have had a headache in the first place. She couldn't think clearly; to hold a thought felt akin to wading through a rip tide in the ocean.

As she became more aware of her surroundings, she smelt essence of dittany and burn salve, and she realised her body felt sore, heavy and immobile. She tried making a fist, but stopped when pain seared through her arm. She had vague recollections of seeing it broken...when? Today? Yesterday? _Gods, there must have been an accident at work_ , she thought, forcing her eyes open. The light made her squint, but as she looked around, she saw she was in an old-fashioned hospital bed with curtains drawn around it. "Ah, shit," she muttered, seeing the bandages on her arms and burn salve on her chest. Accident at work indeed. She tried to remember what they were currently studying, but her memory failed her.

Realising how dry her throat was, she reached over to the bedside table for the glass of water the Healers must have left for her. She drank it quickly, savouring the soothing feeling as it slipped down her throat. Her fatigue improved slightly, much to her relief, and she decided to try and get out of the bed. Looking around, she realised she _wasn't_ in St. Mungo's and she was anxious to get her bearings. The bed and bedlinen didn't match what the Wizarding Hospital used, nor did the curtains, and the walls were completely wrong. Just as she'd swung one leg over the bed, however, she heard a door crash open, followed by footsteps and voices. She quickly got back into bed and strained to hear what was being said out on what she assumed to be the ward.

"Evidence of torture?" someone hissed. "You're sure? Merlin, she's around my age, that's-"

"Horrible, yes. But they're old injuries," someone else – an older woman, Hermione guessed, by the sound of the voice – assured the first speaker. "The main concern, Professor's, apart from the fact she looks as though she's been in a violent explosion, is the head injury. It'll cause some sort of amnesia, so I'd be hesitant in your questioning."

"I promise, Matron, I merely want to ask her a few trivial things, at first." A third voice was added into the mix. It was cool, and calm and...familiar. Hermione frowned, but before she could dwell, he continued on. "Could you send Miss Doe's personal effects to my office?"

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," the woman said, and Hermione heard her footsteps up the length of the ward.

_Did she say 'Dumbledore'?_ Hermione wasn't sure it was possible to mishear a name like that. Before she had a chance to ponder it, 'Dumbledore' spoke again.

"This is the sand, Minerva? Are you sure?"

"Yes, it was surrounding her, all over her robes. She said my _name_ , Albus, and I've never seen her before in my life. Whoever Jane Doe is, I'm willing to bet she's not from _here_ , if you get my drift."

Hermione found her jaw dropping of it's own accord at the familiar voices from just beyond the curtain. Albus and Minerva. Merlin, where on God's green earth was she? She tried to keep her breathing in check and slowly and deliberately tried to stretch her back, focusing on anything to keep her mind from going haywire. Her head was already starting to get a dull ache once more.

"But that does not mean," Minerva continued warningly, and Hermione noticed her voice was higher, and less haggard than she'd heard it...well, ever, "That she can be trusted. Keep your wits about you, old man. You've still got many enemies from defeating Gellert, who knows what lengths his fanatics would go to to get revenge."

Albus chuckled, and Hermione could just imagine his eyes twinkling. "Why Minerva, it seems the first years were wrong – you _do_ have a heart after all," he teased her lightly. A pointed silence fell, and if Hermione knew Minerva, the formidable woman would probably be glaring at him right now. "I thank you for your concern, my dear," he said patiently – _yes, he just got glared at_ , she thought, the ghost of a smile on her lips _–_ "But I assure you, I will be perfectly fine. Why don't you go down to the kitchens and get a plate of food for Miss Doe?"

A sharp exhale sounded. "Of course, Albus," Minerva said, and the _clack_ of high heels sounded on the floor, retreating in the opposite direction of the Matron's.

"And Minerva?" Albus called.

"Yes?"

"For once, I'm glad of your smoking habit. If you hadn't been by the lake for your morning cigarette, I doubt she would be alive right now." Hermione could hear the sincerity and gratefulness in his voice. Merlin, how she missed it. For all his wrongs, Albus Dumbledore's voice could be one of the most soothing sounds in the world.

"Why thank you, Albus. I know how hard it is to admit you were wrong," Minerva said, and Hermione could just imagine the smirk on her face as Albus chortled.

_This is a dream, surely. How can this be real? He's dead._

A shadow grew from behind the curtains, and Hermione realised that the time for eavesdropping was over. For all she overheard, she was no closer to coming up with a plausible explanation as to what was going on. She couldn't remember a thing. She guessed she was at Hogwarts, however with Albus Dumbledore mixed into the equation, it simply didn't make sense.

Breath hitching as the curtains opened, her eyes widened as she drank in the very real, and very alive form of Albus Dumbledore. His eccentric robe choice was the same as ever; purple, with gold trim, was the current ensemble, although he looked...odd. Different. His hair and beard were neither grey, nor exceedingly long. Hermione had only ever seen him this young in the photograph's of Rita Skeeter's awful, yet sadly truthful, book about him.

"Ah, our mystery guest is awake," he said brightly. "How are you feeling? You had some nasty injuries, dear girl." He conjured an armchair and sat next to the bed, surveying her over his half-moon spectacles.

Hermione gaped for a moment, wanting to confirm his identity before saying anything. "Albus Dumbledore?" she queried tentatively, quite sure she looked rather ridiculous.

Albus lifted up his chin slightly and leaned back in his chair. "Ah yes, I had a feeling you might know me," he said softly, taking off his spectacles. "A different version? Older, perhaps?"

"Perhaps..." she said warily. To say she was unnerved was an understatement, and Merlin, did her head start aching the more she thought about how _wrong_ this all was. As she blinked, she had a flash of memory, of a boathouse, a missing tree, and a jetty... _Minerva._

_**Young** _ _Minerva._

_Young Albus?_

_Merlin's fucking pantaloons._

A cough startled her out of her thoughts. "Back to my original question, Miss Doe. How are you feeling?"

Hermione sighed. "Not all that well, Al- Sir," she corrected herself, but Albus waved her off. "Oh, by all means, call me how you usually do," he said kindly. "Unless you've picked up Minerva McGonagall's habits for truly awful nicknames. 'Gandalf' is the current one, I believe – I so regret buying her those books for Christmas," he added, with a shake of his head and a chuckle. "I have a few more questions for you, if I may?" At her slow nod, he asked, "What day of the week is it?"

"Friday," she answered.

"And the date?"

"29th of June."

Albus hummed, looking at her curiously. He cocked his head to the side, and Hermione could see a hint of concern betraying his usually calm features. "Amnesia is to be expected, after a head injury like yours," he mused. "It is, in fact, the _30th_ of June. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I just remembered – the lake..." she said slowly.

"Before that, my dear," he nudged.

Hermione frowned as images swirled in her mind, disjointed, but enough to make her remember. "Dinner, last night. Indian take-away. Work finished late, around 10pm," she said eventually, although the pounding in her head grew. She made a move to pour another glass of water, but with her wrist in a sling, she realised it would end in disaster. Instead, she grabbed the glass and, after not seeing her wand anywhere, performed a wandless _aguamenti_ charm above the goblet. She smiled, pleased the bone break hadn't affected her magical ability in the slightest, although is was more painful than she expected.

"Impressive," Albus commended. When she looked at him, after taking a drink, she saw he was genuine in his compliment; his eyes were sparkling. They truly were the windows to his soul. "What is your job, if you don't mind me asking?"

She gave a small smile – her job was her life; her obsession. With a hint of pride in her voice, she said, "Curse-breaker and Magic Analyst, Department of Mysteries. That's all I'm allowed to say."

He nodded. "And finally, given the fact you were surrounded by the Sands of Time by the Lake – what year are you from?" His voice was sharper, much more direct than what it had been mere moments ago.

Wanting just one more moment of blissful ignorance, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled, eyes burning as she realised the inevitable ending of this conversation. She felt her heart shattering as she said, "2001." After taking a deep breath and blinking away the tears threatening to well in her eyes, she asked, "And what year is this?"

With a regretful sigh, Albus answered. "1957, my dear. I am so very sorry..."

_**_

_30th June, 2001_

_Daily Prophet HQ_

**_ **ACCIDENT IN THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES:** _ **

**_ **5 INJURED, HERMIONE GRANGER MISSING** _ **

_At approximately 11.57am today, June 30th, 2001, a tragic accident in the lower levels of the Department of Mysteries took place, rendering 5 as yet unnamed Unspeakables in St. Mungo's, while celebrated war hero Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin 1st Class, has yet to be located in the remains of a destroyed laboratory. While normally, this sort of accident is kept from the public, Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt has issued a statement to assure the public he is doing all he can to find Ms. Granger, noting that the disappearance of a war-hero, sadly, does not go unnoticed._

_"_ _It is my sad duty to report that the rumours are, in fact, true – a volatile object we recently confiscated has caused a large amount of damage, the details of which will not be made available to the public. I can promise you we are going all we can to recover Agent Granger. We will not rest until we find her, or discover what has happened to her. I urge you all to not spread rumours, or uneducated theories. The work our dedicated Unspeakables do here is highly confidential, extremely dangerous and not something up for public discussion. All further articles about this incident will be pulled from_ all _Wizarding publications due to this fact, unless I have_ personally _authorised them. That is all."_

_We here at the_ Daily Prophet _wish the best of luck to the forthcoming investigation, and will be abiding by the Minister's wishes to respect the privacy of this tragic event. We sincerely regret publishing Rita Skeeter's speculative column in the Afternoon Bulletin earlier in the day, and refute the suggestion she made that this accident was the direct result of a workplace love rivalry._

_Mr. Harry Potter, friend of Ms. Granger, has requested privacy for Ms. Granger's friends and family during this difficult time. He is hopeful that she will be found safe and alive, and also wishes the Unspeakables in St. Mungo's a quick recovery._

Kingsley Shacklebolt gave a grim smile as looked over the proposed cover page of the _Evening Prophet_ _._ Short, succinct, and to the point – he was sure even Hermione herself would approve. Worry constricted at his chest once more at the thought of her; a dear friend, who had gone through so much...suddenly gone. She needed to be found.

Shaking himself from him thoughts, he gave a nod to Barnabus Cuffe, Editor-In-Chief of the _Prophet_. "Print it. And get advance copies to myself, the Weasley's and Harry Potter. And Headmistress McGonagall," he added as an afterthought. "She deserves a bit of warning that the rumour mill at Hogwarts will be going crazy in a few hours."

 


	2. A Name To Use

Chapter 2:

A Name To Use

_30th June, 1957_

_Hogwarts_

_With a regretful sigh, Albus answered. "1957, my dear. I am so very sorry..."_

His voice faded into the back of her mind as her head swam. She was in 1957. She quickly did the maths – 1957 was 44 years ago. Merlin, her mother was a toddler! Her father was in prep! She was vaguely aware of movement happening around her bed, but she was too lost in the abyss of her mind to care. Her breathing became laboured, but she ignored the pain it was causing her ribs.  _How could this happen_? Time-Turners no longer existed in the new millennium, as far as she was aware. And travelling back in time more than 5 days was illegal. How the hell did she end up so far away from the present? "Oh, Gods," she breathed, realising her vision was going blurry.

Before she could protest, she realised someone was tipping a potion down her throat, although she couldn't understand what they were saying; her ears felt as if they had hot cotton wool stuffed in them. It took several minutes for her to calm down enough to face Albus's gaze again. They had been joined by who she guessed was the school nurse, an older woman with silver hair, dressed in the same uniform Madam Pomfrey usually wore.

"Feel better, pet?" the Matron asked from the end of the bed, pouring a glass of water for her patient. "I've given you a calming draught. Professor Dumbledore-" she glared at the man, who was no longer sitting, but pacing the bedside, "-has been informed that he's no longer allowed to question you without supervision."

"It's ok, Matron," Hermione said weakly, accepting the drink. "Albus, how did – uh –  _this –_ happen?" She wasn't sure she wanted the Matron knowing just what had transpired in the past fifteen minutes and hoped Albus understood her meaning.

The wizard sighed, removing his glasses and running his hand through his auburn hair. "I think only you will know the answer to that, once your amnesia clears." He paused, before asking, "Would you come across any objects that could cause this in your line of work?"

Hermione frowned as she considered the question. While it wasn't likely, she supposed it  _was_ possible for something like that to come across their laboratory; disguised as something else, even. Sand could be easily hidden, and Sands of Time was certainly something to keep locked away. Truthfully, the things she found concealed in Dark or cursed objects no longer surprised her. Only she couldn't remember what the latest cases were, and the more she tried to draw on the memories, the more her head felt like it was going to split open. Angry with herself, she drank her water, getting rid of the bitter taste of potion. "You know, Albus, there is a possibility that that could happen," she sighed, chewing on her bottom lip.

She thought back to the many books on time travel she had read in her third year after Professor McGonagall had gifted her with a Time-Turner. Time travel was still being experimented with in the 1950's, however her history books had shown that most experiments hadn't been successful, and the ones that were, were only for short term travel. Not the 44 odd years she'd need to get back home. The thought settled like lead in her stomach. She felt ill as she saw her chances of going home diminish before her eyes.

"So what the hell do I do now?" she asked, teary eyed as the gravity of the situation threatened to catch up with her once more. Luckily, the calming draught seemed to be keeping her heart rate stable, and she focused on listening to Albus, doing all she could to drown out distractions.

"Now?" He hummed, pacing as he thought. "Recover from your injuries, first and foremost. I'll alert the Ministry that we have a young lady missing in Time. You'll go in for questioning at some point, and then...well, we will go from there. Ah!" He smiled as the door creaked open, and Hermione heard the sound of high heels echoing from the stone floor. "Minerva, delighted you could join us."

Hermione couldn't help but stare at the younger version of Minerva McGonagall as she appeared from behind the curtain. Elegant, even while carrying a tray of food, she wore a simple, black muggle dress that showed of her toned arms and pale skin, her hair was now pulled back into a loose bun, and her eyes were still accentuated with a slick of dark liner, as they had been by the lake. She'd heard that Minerva had been quite pretty in her youth, but looking at the young woman before her, Hermione realised that that was most certainly an understatement.

With a slightly tense smile on her red painted lips, Minerva placed the tray of food across Hermione's legs. "Glad you're awake, Miss Doe," she said, not unkindly, but Hermione knew that tone of voice far too well. Minerva was on her guard. "You gave me quite the scare," she added briskly, before retreating to the foot of the bed to stand next to Albus.

"I dare say I would have," Hermione said, sitting up straighter.

Albus chuckled. "Never a dull day in Hogwarts, ladies," he said, and Hermione really had to agree with him. "Now, Matron, if we could go over Jane Doe's file in your office? And Minerva, if you could keep Jane company while she eats-?" Minerva nodded – "Jane-" he focused his blue eyes on Hermione, "get some rest after your meal. We can converse more tomorrow, I assure you," he promised as she opened her mouth to protest. She conceded and leaned back as he and the Matron disappeared out into the ward.

Minerva took a seat in Albus's recently vacated chair, crossing her long legs and leaning back, looking at Hermione curiously, as if she were a puzzle just waiting to be solved. She'd had that expression directed at her by the venerable woman twice before, but to see it on someone her own age was slightly unnerving. Deciding not to over-think, Hermione busied herself with eating the meal the elves had prepared for her – steaming hot French onion soup with fresh bread. She didn't realise how hungry she was until the aroma hit her nostrils and she dove in, surprised to find the soup tasted exactly the same as in her own time.

"So I take it you know me." Her voice was softer now, but still wary. At Hermione's questioning gaze, she specified, "A  _future_  version, if my theory is correct, yes?"

After another spoonful of soup, Hermione chose her words carefully before answering. "You're correct. We're friends, yes. Good friends. We're, ah, meant to be having dinner next week, actually," she added quietly, realising sadly that she most likely wouldn't make that particular meet up now. Hoping to forge some sort of connection with young Minerva, she continued, "Every new issue of  _Transfiguration Today_ usually means dinner, far too much wine and hours of discussion between us."

At this, Minerva actually gave a sniff of laughter. "Good to know my love of Transfiguration and alcohol continues on, then," she said wryly. "You're going to have to give us a name to call you, by the way. You can't be Jane Doe forever."

Hermione froze as she realised she hadn't actually introduced herself, she had been much too busy trying to comprehend the fact she was stuck in the 1950's. She debated with herself over whether to give her real name, or a false one. Given how important her role was in the future, she decided a pseudonym would be much safer. Unlike in 2001, Voldemort was actually alive in 1957. A trace of Hermione Granger in the past could be disastrous for her younger self. "Jean," she said after a while, choosing her middle name. "Jean Gray."

"Well then, Jean Gray, it's a pleasure to meet you," Minerva smiled.

"And it's...very bizarre...to meet you, but a pleasure all the same." Hermione laughed with the realisation of the absurdity of the situation. "Where are the students?" she asked, only just noticing how unnaturally quiet Hogwarts was.

"Home," Minerva said simply. "The summer holidays started two days ago. There's just a few of us Professors here at the moment."

_Well, that explains it_ , Hermione thought as she finished her soup. As soon as her spoon was in the empty bowl, Minerva leaned over and banished the tray to the kitchens with a tap of her wand. "Get some sleep, Jean Gray. You have a lot of healing to do," the Professor said, standing up and smoothing over her dress.

Obediently, Hermione lay back down, fatigue seeping into her. As she heard Minerva leave, she propped herself up on her elbow. The conversation she had listened in on earlier had replayed in her mind, and she was reminded just how serious her condition had been on arrival. "Hey," she said, causing the woman to turn back around, eyebrows raised. "I um...overheard Albus earlier, saying I'd be dead if you hadn't been there. So thank you. Thank you for saving my life."

Just like the Minerva of the future, her younger counterpart stiffened at the gratitude, but quickly recovered herself. "You're welcome," she said tensely. "Sleep well, Jean."

* * *

 

_1st July, 1957_

_Hogwarts_

Sleep was a refuge. With the variety of potions she'd been administered, Hermione's rest was dreamless and healing as her body worked to repair itself. The Skele-Grow mended the bone fractures she'd sustained, while the burns and bruises slowly cleared up with the help of balms and salves that the Matron applied to her legs and arms.

She didn't want to wake up. Waking up would mean that yesterday had actually happened, that something had somehow gone terribly wrong and she was thrown back in time by  _decades_. If she kept her eyes closed, she could pretend she was home in her flat and her headache was because she'd had far too much to drink the night before.

Alas, with the bandage on her head beginning to make her battered skin itch, she pushed her pathetic hopes from her mind and opened her eyes, blinking in the morning sunlight. She was still at Hogwarts. Still covered in bandages and salve, still wearing a hospital gown with the school crest embroidered on it.  _Hello, 1957_ , she thought dejectedly. Just as she sat up, the Matron could be heard heading down the ward.

"Ah, you're up. Excellent," she said, bustling over with several potion bottles floating behind her, along with a tray of food. "Take these-" she handed the first potion over, "-then you can have some breakfast. How are you feeling, Miss Gray?"

_Gray. You're Jean Gray_ , Hermione reminded herself, after being confused momentarily by the name the Matron used. "Headache. Bit sore everywhere. But better than yesterday," she answered, before drinking the first potion. She grimaced at the foul taste, recognising it as diluted Skele-Grow.

"And this," the Matron said, handing over another bottle. Once that was down, she handed over the final one - "Pain relief, which I'm sure you'll be needing plenty of over the next day or so. Any memory of whatever accident you were in?"

Hermione frowned, thinking as hard as she could. Still, there was nothing there. "No, unfortunately. Just leaving work a few days ago."

The Matron hummed, checking over Hermione's various injuries. She had several burns on her legs and arms, along with grazes and scratches littering her face, chest and hands. Her wrist, while no where near as painful as it was yesterday, still had a ways to go before the bone was completely mended. "Another day of bed rest for you, I think. Minimal magic, but it would be good for you to walk around a bit. Eat your breakfast, then we'll get you showered and dressed and you can talk to Professor Dumbledore." With that, she set the breakfast tray across Hermione's legs and walked back to the end of the ward.

Eager to get the taste of potions out of her mouth, Hermione took a welcome drink of pumpkin juice before tucking into the creamy apple porridge the elves had prepared. It tasted like heaven.

Hermione had just finished drying her hair when Minerva appeared at the foot of the bed, bearing several magazines and the  _Daily Prophet_. "Thought you'd probably be stir crazy by now, so I bought you some things to read. You should at least know what sort of world you've ended up in," she said, her tone crisp. "And I'm to walk you to Albus's office, if you're feeling up to it," she added, placing the reading materials on the bedside table.

Taken aback by the thoughtfulness, Hermione smiled at her. "Thank you. We can go now, just let me tell Matron-"

"Let me, I'll be quicker," Minerva suggested as Hermione struggled to her feet. "I'll meet you at the doors."

Realising she was right, Hermione slowly ambled her way to the entry way, legs stiff and painful from whatever had happened to her. And her back – Merlin, it hadn't felt this bad in years. She made a mental note to ask to brew her own pain relief potion, one she had invented herself, specifically designed for chronic pain caused by exposure to the Cruciatus curse. It had been the potion that got her her Mastery a year after she'd finished Hogwarts. She smiled at the memory of accepting that piece of parchment she had worked so hard for, seeing Harry and Ron in the crowd, surprised by both Minerva and Kingsley – the two most prominent members of Wizarding society – attending to support her. She briefly wondered when she'd next see them again, before pushing the thought from her mind. No point in being morose.

The sound of heels on stone coming from behind her announced Minerva's return. The Transfiguration Professor gave a brief smile before leading the way down the halls, offering an arm for Hermione to lean on when she saw 'Jean' struggling.

Considering her love of agility and fitness, hobbling along at such a slow pace made Hermione's thoughts darken. She wished she knew what had caused this much damage to her person. She remembered hearing the word 'explosion' yesterday when the Matron was discussing her injuries and had to agree that that seemed like an apt conclusion. Burns and shrapnel damage was what currently littered her skin, although most was hidden in the long hospital dress she was wearing. She briefly wondered where her clothes were, and the rest of her possessions – she'd yet to see her wand, however magic had been the last thing on her mind. .

Finally, after walking down to the end of the transfiguration corridor, Minerva came to a stop and knocked on the last door. "Albus?"

At the sound of Albus's voice telling them to come in, Minerva pushed open the heavy door, standing aside to let Hermione pass. Hermione's eyes widened as she stepped into Albus's office. Just like when he was –  _would be? –_  the Headmaster, the room was filled with an assortment of strange and unique objects, along with what looked like hundreds of books of varying ages. She couldn't help but appreciate the beauty in some of the spines on display; some of these books had to at least be from the 14th century. "Minerva, my dear, if you could wait out side? And Jean, please take a seat," Albus said, gesturing at the armchair in front of his desk.

Hermione saw Minerva raise an eyebrow at the request, but both obliged; Minerva closing the door behind her after offering a small smile to Hermione.

"I have alerted the Ministry to your situation, Jean," Albus said, fixing his gaze upon her, eyes wandering over the various grazes on her face as she sat down. "They have requested you come in tomorrow morning, along with myself and Minerva to give statements. I have to ask; to your knowledge, is it likely they will find a way of sending you home from this end?"

Hermione averted her gaze as she thought back to build upon the memories she had brought up yesterday of her learnings in her third year. Albus let her think, chewing on a lemon drop absent-mindedly. Eventually, Hermione answered, "Honestly, no. And if it was possible, it wouldn't be through the British Ministry. The French and Swedish wizarding communities are a bit further ahead in time travel research at this point in history, but a 44 year jump  _forwards_  is unheard of. Even if it was possible, there is no way of knowing if it's actually  _survivable_."

Albus's eyebrows raised slightly. "You seem well versed in this," he commented approvingly. "Quite studious, I take it?"

"Very," Hermione said quickly. "Minerva – um, Professor McGonagall gave me a time-turner in my third year so that I could take every class Hogwarts had to offer. Naturally, along with my course work, I simply  _had_  read up on everything I could on the history of time travel," she explained with a wry smile. Luckily, she no longer blushed when she recounted her obsessive habits of her school days. Those obsessive habits had lead to her two masteries and job at the Department of Mysteries by the time she was 21.

Albus looked suitably impressed. "Every class? Really, Miss Gray, that is … that is dedication, my dear," he chuckled, almost in disbelief.

With Albus lost in thought for a moment, Hermione decided to ask a few of her own questions. "Albus? If I may. I was wondering if I would be able to brew a potion or two at some point soon? As my scans might have shown, I have old injuries and I take a specific type of pain relieving potion for them," she said, crossing her fingers he would agree. If her history was correct, Horace Slughorn was the Potions Master at Hogwarts at the moment, and she was absolutely positive he would have all the ingredients in his stores.

The Professor considered for a moment. "You know the recipe?" he asked. At Hermione's nod, he agreed. "Very well, I will see what we have left in the store cupboard. Your scan results were... well, disturbing. I dread to think-"

"Sir, please don't ask," she said hurriedly, partly because it was difficult to talk about, partly because she knew Albus's tendency to meddle and get information out of people. Until she knew where she stood, and whether he trusted her or not, she was unwilling to mention anything to do with the Wizarding Wars. "I was also wondering," she continued, "where my wand is? I had an ID rune pendant, as well, and-"

"Ah, yes, your personal effects, I have them here," he said, bending down and pulling a large paper bag from under his desk. He then looked at her, a worrying expression clouding his features. "Your wand, I'm very sorry to say, was unfortunately broken upon impact yesterday..." he reached in and pulled out two halves of her beautiful vine wand, it's tip splintered, held together by a sliver of dragon heartstring.

"Oh Gods," she breathed, reaching for them with trembling hands. Her wand, her wonderful, perfect wand, was in pieces. She doubted even she would be strong enough to repair it wandlessly; she recalled how Harry's had simply re-broken when she repaired it after the incident in Godric's Hollow. Still, she had to try. Her wand deserved a chance. It had fought in war; cracking on rocks seemed like an indignity. She took a shaky breath and, after placing the halves on the desk, held her hand over them. " _Reparo_ ," she tried. While the pieces reconnected, there was still a gap in the wood. Her heart sank.

Albus sighed sadly, taking her small hands in his. "I'm sorry, Jean, it wont work. After we've been to the Ministry, we can go to Diagon Alley and get you a new one. A witch without her wand is a tragedy indeed."

Hermione shook her head sadly. "Albus, you may not have noticed, but I don't have any money. I – wait." She stopped, and narrowed her eyes at him. Harry  _had_ fixed his wand. And Grindelwald had been defeated by Albus over a decade ago, which meant...

" _You_ ," she said forcefully, a relieved smile on her face. "You  _can_ fix my wand."

* * *

 

_30th June, 2001_

_Ministry of Magic_

It had been waiting for him on his desk. It was so rare these days for the Time Department to even acknowledge their own existence, yet they had just sent Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt a Time-Locked letter. He was almost afraid to open it – it was still smoking from the unLocking moments ago.  _Of all the days_ , he thought, shaking his head. He had more than enough on his plate.

After fixing himself a glass of scotch, he sat at his desk and slid open the envelope. As he extracted the letter and began to read, his eyes grew wider, and his face paler.

_ATTN: MINISTER FOR MAGIC IN THE YEAR 2001._

_RE: Hermione Granger, a.k.a. Jean Gray – OUT OF TIME._

_Appeared: June 30th, 1957, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry due to an accident in the Department of Mysteries on June 30th, 2001. Confirmed reports of Sands of Time being found at Hogwarts landing site._

_Returned: April 7th, 1967, from the Ministry of Magic. Return trip organised from the future. Recovery team gave no indication of where/when specifically they were from. Ms. Gray recognised the team leader and left willingly._

_Signed,_

_Yelena Artlock, Time Department_

_British M. O. M._

_1967_

_Additional information: Jean's next-of-kin will be in touch momentarily._

Kingsley gulped.  _Jean Gray...great Circe._

He _knew_  that name. He knew  _her._

He'd even lain a wreath at her memorial service. 


End file.
